by Meara Platt
Or perhaps John hadn’t meant to divulge their boyhood names for each other. Perhaps he’d been drunk and rambling one night, and she’d manipulated him into answering her questions.
Yet, it did not explain the bairn.
Her soft laughter regained his attention. “I’m sure,” she said with amusement in her eyes, “that John, being the youngest brother, had a way of riling all of you. However, there is no target juicier than the eldest brother, is there? Being diabolical, as little brothers can often be, he must have timed his attacks on you so that Lucas walked into the room just as your hands wrapped around John’s throat.”
“My hands were never around his throat. Well, it only ever happened once and that–” He broke off suddenly, horrified he was about to spill one of his own secrets to this girl he’d known for all of five minutes.
“He told me,” she said in an aching whisper, all merriment suddenly gone. “You liked the girl and wanted to marry her.”
“I wouldn’t say I wanted to marry her.” Blessed Mother! John had told her that? How could his brother confide in Jenny the most humiliating moment of his life?
Assuming she was his brother’s wife, a fact of which Cheyne had yet to be convinced. John always went for the fun-loving sort of girl, the sort who shrieked with laughter and was a little loose in her morals.
This girl had a quiet elegance about her that could not be denied.
She was someone important to John, that also could not be denied.
Who the hell was she?
“Very well, perhaps you were merely considering the possibility of marrying her, until you caught her kissing John and not in any brotherly way.”
“I see he’s seen fit to tell you all my secrets.” He and Davina had grown up together, children of powerful families. They had been raised with the expectation they would be married at the proper time. The betrothal contract had been negotiated and only awaited signing. Cheyne had intended to propose to her that very evening. John had put an end to the idea by stealing off with her during the party their father had thrown to celebrate what everyone thought would be an announcement of his proposal and her acceptance.
He’d found John and Davina in a dark corner of the garden, John sticking his tongue in Davina’s mouth and his hand down her bodice.
Cheyne had stood in the shadows, too horrified to move while Davina purred and moaned and guided his brother’s hand to other parts of her body that only a husband had the right to claim.
Cheyne shook out of the dismal thought.
He’d long since put it behind him.
He’d long since stopped hurting over it.
He hadn’t been mourning a lost love, for he had never loved Davina. But he had loved his younger brother, would have given his life to protect him, and that callous betrayal was what had hurt most.
Jenny surprised him by placing a hand on his tension-coiled arm. “He did it for you, to protect you from leg-shackling yourself to the wrong woman.”
“Is this what he told ye, lass?”
She licked her lips again, obviously feeling a bit of trepidation. “Yes, it’s what he told me. He loves you, Lyon. He always has and always will.”
Cheyne snorted.
“He loves you so much, he was willing to sacrifice everything to save you.”
“What other secrets did my brother spill about me?”
“No others. I promise you. Nor will I ever mention that unhappy incident to you or anyone else, not ever again.”
“Ah, so I’m not to be extorted?”
She looked up at him in horror. “Are you jesting? You had better be jesting.” Her hands curled into fists. “What sort of monster do you think I am? To do such a thing to you after you’ve taken us in and shown us every kindness?”
The girl had spine, he had to give her that.
He stared at her, suddenly noticing the heart shape of her face and the soft fullness of her lips. And those big eyes of hers. Why weren’t they blue as his brother’s letter had claimed? And yet, she knew his deepest secret, one only he and John had ever shared. Not even his other brothers, Matthew and Lucas, knew the truth about that night.
Nor had he ever told his parents.
But this girl knew.
Who was she?
And why was he too cowardly to ask her straight out?
Chapter Three
Since the lass was trembling with fatigue, Cheyne insisted she retire early. “I promise to show ye the castle and grounds in the morning, Jenny. Get a good night’s rest. Mairi will take care of the bairn this evening.”
She gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. I’d be foolish to protest. I’m too tired to argue and my hands are shaking.” She held them out, but he merely glanced at them, knowing what would happen if he touched her.
Fire would surge through him.
Even an innocent touch was dangerous.
He sighed in relief when she disappeared upstairs. It was not quite eight o’clock and the sun still shone brightly in the sky. It never set early in summer. The days were long and nights were short at this time of year. Light or dark did not much matter to him. He was never one for remaining abed, no matter the season. He rarely got more than four or five hours sleep a night.
He did not mind being alone in the quiet of the evening.
He needed time to think about Jenny and what he was going to do if she turned out to be an imposter.
He dined alone in the family’s private dining room, as was his custom. Afterward, he shut himself in his study with a bottle of smuggled French brandy. The storm had rolled back in with renewed fervor. He spent the hours listening to the roll of thunder and watching the sparks of lightning illuminate the cloud-covered sky.
He drank into the wee hours and fell into a sluggish sleep in his chair only to wake to the sun’s morning glare in his eyes. “Bollocks,” he muttered, realizing the storm must have passed sometime during the night. Bright rays of light filtered in through the tall windows and struck his unshaven face.
His eyes felt red and raw.
Thunder pounded in his head.
He rose with a moan and slowly made his way up to his bedchamber to wash and dress. He and his brothers used to drink like this when they were idjit lads, but he’d long ago stopped behaving like a reckless fool.
This was unusual for him now.
He never overindulged in anything now that he was duke, for he had duties and a noble title to uphold.
“Blessed saints,” he muttered, wondering how he had allowed his life to get so dull.
When had he turned into a humorless monk?
It was early yet, but as he walked past Jenny’s chamber, he heard the soft cry of a child followed by Jenny’s soothing coos. “Hush, little love. You’ll wake the household.”
Cheyne snorted, for there was no household. Certainly not the lively center of activity Castle Lyon had been while his parents were alive.
He lived alone, for the most part. Lucas and Matthew spent most of their time in Edinburgh, for Lucas was now working at the Royal Bank of Scotland and Matthew was a professor of mathematics at the University of Edinburgh.
They came home as often as they could.
They’d certainly be home for Christmastide, if not before.
Odd, but the lass’s arrival made him realize how removed from family he had become. Aye, he was attentive to his official clan duties, for as Duke of Mar, he was responsible for those who resided in his domain. But it wasn’t the same as having family to share in the joys as well as the worries of his daily routine.
His brothers had their own lives to lead, for they were growing up and finding their own way as men. He had no wish to interfere with their independence, but it would be months before Christmastide and he already missed them.
He did not like to think they were slowly coming apart as a family.
Could Jenny and little Johnny bring them together again?
His mother often said it took a woman to make a house a home. He
’d felt the pressure of marrying when his father had first taken ill and begun his slow descent. His mother’s failing health had heightened the urgency, hence his foolish choice of Davina. He’d known her for most of his life. She was pretty enough, although not particularly warm or comforting.
It had mattered little to him at the time. Their families were friendly. He was used to her. If she did not want him in her bed, he would find his comfort elsewhere. Discreetly, of course.
He did not think more was required.
But John saw in Davina what he did not, a woman who enjoyed the attention of men and would not be content with just one man. She would not have been a faithful wife. She also had a cruel streak that would have torn his family apart.
It still bothered him that his little brother, often rash and impulsive, had been far wiser in this matter. Perhaps John wasn’t quite the idjit Cheyne believed him to be. From the little time he’d spent with Jenny, it was obvious John had chosen far better for himself than Cheyne had done in choosing Davina.
After washing and dressing, Cheyne went downstairs and strode into the private dining room. The table was set for two this morning. Jenny was already seated to the right of his chair, holding little Johnny on her lap and spooning oatmeal into the lad’s mouth. More of it wound up on his chin and down his shirt than in his mouth.
However, Jenny was patiently attending to him, crooning softly in order to coax him into eating the soft mash. She glanced up and smiled to acknowledge his presence. “Good morning, Your Grace...er, Lyon.”
“Mornin’, lass.” He tried not to stare at her, but she had an expressive face that he found quite captivating.
“I hope you don’t mind my bringing Johnny down. He isn’t used to being apart from me yet. These surroundings are new to both of us. Perhaps we both feel the need to cling to each other.”
“It’s fine, Jenny. I dinna mind his company or yours.” In truth, it felt remarkably good to have them with him.
“Thank you.” She’d served herself from the buffet, some coddled eggs and a hash of potatoes. She was also nursing a cup of tea, but hadn’t touched any of it yet.
The bairn, now obviously full, amused himself by banging a spoon on the table with one hand and attempting to dig his fist into Jenny’s eggs with the other. “No, Johnny. Not for you,” she said, laughing in a gentle, sing-song voice as she bounced the fidgeting boy on her knee to divert his attention from her food.
She tried to take the spoon from his hand to stop the banging, but the lad squealed so loudly, she handed it right back to him. “Your Grace, we’ll leave you to eat in peace.”
“No, Jenny. Stay. I dinna mind the noise.”
She eyed him dubiously. “Are you certain?”
His head still pounded and he had yet to shake off the remnants of his drunken stupor. But there was something wonderful about having the two of them beside him, even if it pointed out the bleakness of his dining alone. “I’m certain.”
He started to pile food on his plate, but changed his mind and set the serving spoon back in the salver and the plate on the buffet. He noticed Jenny had made no attempt to touch her breakfast. “Eat up, lass. We aren’t formal here and ye need to put some meat on yer bones.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Brogan said the same to me as he piled my plate high. I’ll be as plump as a Christmas goose if he’s to serve me like this every morning. In Oxford, we usually helped ourselves to a light breakfast. Some oatmeal, that’s about it. Perhaps a cup of tea on a cold day. We saved our appetite for the midday meal. Is the custom different here?”
“Aye, lass. We tend to eat more heartily. The wind is wet and raw off the sea and will cut straight through yer bones if ye don’t have meat on them. A large breakfast and an early supper are our two big meals. But the kitchen is open all day, and my cook, Mrs. MacAlpin, makes sure something is always available if ye’re to get hungry in between. I know ye Sassenachs are fond of yer afternoon tea. Just let her know if ye have a particular favorite treat, a scone or cake, and she’ll make it for ye.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced at her still untouched plate. “Ye’ll insult Brogan if ye don’t eat up. He enjoys being a mother hen.” He grinned and sank into his chair. A footman came forward to pour him a cup of coffee. “Go on, lass. Ye needn’t be dainty about it. Don’t wait for me.”
She frowned lightly. “Will you not have anything?”
“Not this morning.” His stomach was in a roil and his head still throbbed from his overindulgence last night. “Dinna worry, I’ll no’ fade away to nothing.”
His heart lurched at the soft smile she cast him.
He cleared his throat. “Are ye up for a tour of the castle and grounds?”
“Yes, most eager for it. I must have slept like the dead last night. When did the storm pass?”
“Shortly before dawn.”
She nodded. “I woke and went straight to the window to look at the sea. I had to stick my head out to get a clear view of the beach. The wind was light off the water and carried the scent of salty waves and morning dew. The dew coated the rose petals in your mother’s garden. At first, I thought it might rain again, but the clouds began to break up as I watched them. You would never know we were caught in the throes of a howling gale last night. The sky is clear now, the bluest I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s Scotland’s weather for ye. It’s either the gentlest, most beautiful day ye’ve ever beheld or the harshest, rawest day not fit for man nor beast. There is no middle ground.”
“It’s gentle today.”
He grinned. “Aye. Let’s hope it lasts.”
“Everything glistens here. And the colors are so vibrant. The red roses in the garden. The deep blue of the sea and sky. I could hear the water gently lapping on the sand beach. It’s the most soothing sound imaginable. Is it safe to take Johnny down there?”
“Aye, lass. At low tide. I’ll let you know when. It won’t take you long to learn the rhythm of tides.”
She sighed. “This place, Lyon. It’s...almost like heaven.”
He was glad she liked it, for he was proud of his castle and pleased she saw the beauty in this rugged landscape.
“Everything sparkles like diamonds.”
“You like diamonds?” Dinna all women fancy them? Davina certainly had.
She shrugged. “They are pretty, but it’s the sparkle of the sun on the water I find fascinating. I woke early and watched the motion of the waves, the ebb and flow of the tide. There were sailing ships in the distance. There’s such power and vitality to the sea. We have nothing like it in Oxford.”
“Ye have a river.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He laughed. “It’s a city, Jenny. Lots of buildings. A great bustle of activity. Fine carriages. Impressive shops. The university. The recital halls. It’s a very different life.”
“It is,” she admitted, grabbing Johnny’s pudgy hand before he could grab her cup and knock it over. “Quite drab compared to all this natural beauty. You gave me the loveliest bedchamber. In addition to the sea and garden, I could see the purple heather on the cliffs above the beach and the fields of lavender in the distant hills. I feel like I awoke in a splendid dream.”
He liked that she appreciated the ocean and flowers.
Had she taken notice of the wealth built up by the dukes of Mar over the generations? The castle’s imposing furnishings, the silver and gold, the portraits and rugs brought back by his ancestors on Crusade and during the various wars over the centuries.
“This massive stone fortress is splendid,” she continued, almost reading his mind. “When was it built? It feels as though it’s stood upon this hill for over a thousand years.”
He nodded. “About that long.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise.
She shook her head and laughed softly. “My oldest possession is my mother’s locket and it is perhaps fifty years old. It was passed down to her by her mother, but it pales in co
mparison to your rich history. Well, I also have two books my father gave me that are quite old. I have them with me. I’ll show them to you some time.” She took a quick sip of her tea and then set the cup down just out of Johnny’s lunging reach. “Will you tell me more about your ancestors? History fascinates me and your family’s past is so interesting.”
Usually, he did not enjoy chattering at the breakfast table, but the lass had a soft lilt to her voice and a gentle way of talking. “Aye, Jenny. I’ll tell you as we stroll along the grounds.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it. Do you mind if I bring Johnny with us? He could do with a bit of the outdoors.”
“Of course. But keep a hold of him once we pass through the castle gate. The land rises to a steep cliff to the north.”
“I’ll keep him in my arms.” She cast him a solemn nod.
“Here, why don’t ye pass me the lad while ye finish yer eggs?” He took the bairn from her lap and set him on his knee, then sat back and listened as she continued to ask questions and run on in fascination about the history of Clan Mar.
“If I close my eyes, I can see your valiant warrior ancestors sailing into port, riding their battle-hardened destriers off the ship and up the hill toward the keep. What a sight it must have been to see the knights of Mar on their enormous war horses, their banners draped on the tips of their lances, thundering past the villagers, everyone scurrying out of the way so as not to be trampled under the gigantic hooves of those mammoth destriers.”
He chuckled. “Jenny, ye have a vivid imagination.”
Her smile broadened so that he now noticed the dimples in her cheeks and the little dimple in her chin. “I’ve often been told that. More often berated for it. Never by your brother, of course. He has his own dreams of travel and adventure, hasn’t he?”
“Aye, John always did have those.”
Her eyes shimmered with mirth as she studied him. “But you enjoy being right here, working the land. Living at Castle Lyon. It’s in your soul. I can see that.”